Our Fearless Leader
by CrysWimmer
Summary: (BG 2003) A short little snippet exploring the difficulties Lee faces when appointed as CAG, and the way that he manages it with just a little help from others.


Our Fearless Leader By Crystal Wimmer  
  
My apologies to those anxiously awaiting the conclusion to The Princess of the Lenna Dell, but this story has been on my mind, and it won't go away until I write it. When I have, Lenna Dell will be back in action..  
  
Kara looked at the closed curtains around her bunk and snickered. "Someone's been sleeping in my bed," she muttered as she approached her very own personal space. "And I bet he's still there."  
  
She didn't have to tug the curtain back to know who would be lying there. Only one person on the ship was comfortable enough to invade her space, and that was fine. He was the only one she cared to allow into her space. She walked to the foot of her bed, and eased the curtain back a bit in case he was sleeping. It wasn't unheard of for Lee to catch a nap between shifts, but it was rare enough that she didn't want to disturb him.  
  
As expected, Lee was there with his body stretched out on the far side of the bed and an arm thrown over his eyes. She wasn't sure how she knew it, but she was sure he wasn't sleeping. "You okay?" she asked softly.  
  
"Headache," he muttered.  
  
"I'll go somewhere else," she suggested. Privacy was rare on the Galactica, and letting him alone to fight the stress seemed the least she could do.  
  
"You can stay," he told her softly.  
  
She considered a moment, then eased herself onto the foot of the bed and lifted her legs to stretch them out and cross them at the ankles around where his waist was. She remained sitting there, her back against the wall, and eased the curtains closed. "Can I help?" she asked softly. If he didn't want her out, maybe he wanted to talk.  
  
"I don't know, can you?" he asked with a sarcasm that had become more common in the month since the war had begun.  
  
"Try me," she offered.  
  
He sighed loudly. "What the frak am I doing wrong?" he asked. She could hear the frustration in his voice, and she knew its source. There were no secrets in a squadron so small.  
  
"Nothing," she assured him. "It just takes time."  
  
"Thanks," he muttered.  
  
She knew he would shut down if she gave him the chance, so she didn't. "Lee, we had Ripper with us for three years," she reminded him. "He was here longer than I've been, and he was good. He's just a tough act to follow. Most of the pilots on board don't know anyone else. Give them some time."  
  
He sighed again, but didn't reply. He also didn't move his arm to look at her, even in the dim light behind the closed drapes of her bed.  
  
"Lee, everyone's doing their best," she tried again. "You need to give them time to grieve."  
  
"I know that," he muttered. "But I'm just sick of wondering whose mother I must have killed in another life. They look at me like I'm the enemy."  
  
"No, they don't," she corrected. "Just an unknown. Give them."  
  
"Time," he finished for her. "Right. Thanks."  
  
Giving up on reason, she turned herself around and lay down next to him, resting her head on the pillow next to his. "What happened?"  
  
"Nothing overt," he answered after a time. "Just the looks. I'm sick of it. It doesn't matter how careful I am to be fair, or how many times I turn my back on things I know I should call them on, they still look at me like I'm going to send them off to the brig. It pisses me off."  
  
"You've been fair with the work load," she reasoned. "And you've been accommodating with the squadron redistribution. You do your fair share of the flights, and you manage the arguments well. They will eventually realize that you're a good guy. It won't happen overnight."  
  
"I didn't expect it to," he told her on a sigh. "But if I hear, 'Ripper didn't do that' or 'Ripper did it that way' one more time, I just may hit somebody."  
  
"No you won't," she said as she gently elbowed him in the ribs. "I told you. It's all they know. He's the only CAG that most of them have had."  
  
"Even the older guys are just this side of insubordinate," he corrected. "I give an order, and they look over at you to see if they should follow it. How many times have you had to confirm my orders or my schedules before they did what they should?"  
  
She didn't immediately reply. He was right. The orders came from Lee, but usually they looked to her for confirmation before following them. It was annoying on the Galactica, and she had hoped that it would stop soon, but in the air it would be deadly. They needed to follow his commands without question - to trust him - and trust couldn't be forced. She didn't know what to do about it any more than he did. "I don't know," she admitted. "Too often, I guess. I was hoping they'd get the hint by now."  
  
"You and me both," he agreed. "It's going to get somebody killed."  
  
It was so close to her own thoughts that a shiver ran up her spine. "I'll talk to them," she suggested. "Maybe if I lay it out for them."  
  
"Which is what you've been doing from day one," he reminded her. "I'm not complaining about your support, Kara. It's the only thing that held it together this long. But it's not enough. At some point they're going to have to look to me for the orders, and I don't know how to force that."  
  
She thought a moment more. "Have you talked to your father about it?"  
  
He shook his head, finally removing his arm from over his eyes and looking at her. "Kara, I'm upset about it, but I don't want anyone reprimanded. You're right; it's understandable. They have a right to take their time getting to know me. Besides, he's already put me in command. He can't do much more than that without dealing with individuals. I won't make any friends by turning them in to the Commander."  
  
"I didn't mean that way," she clarified. "Your father has been here forever, and his commands go without question. But it wasn't always that way, I'm sure. He was new once, too. He might have some ideas on how to speed up the process. I'm not telling you to turn the squads in, but maybe he'd have an idea of what they need from you to build that trust."  
  
"Maybe," he admitted.  
  
"You need to talk to him anyway," she added, deciding to get her piece said while she had him literally against a wall and he couldn't walk away. "  
  
"Kara, don't."  
  
"Well, you do," she reiterated. "He's your father. Spend some time with him. He's the only family you have left."  
  
"Thanks," he muttered dryly.  
  
"You know what I mean," she told him with exasperation. "You two don't get within twenty yards of each other if you're given a choice. It's ridiculous. Spend some time with him."  
  
"They already dislike me," he told her softly. "If I go running to daddy every time I get upset, it won't help. Hell, half the problem is that I'm an Adama. I know that's why they think I was placed in command."  
  
"They do not," she corrected. "Although I'll admit they're concerned about what is said around you because they don't want things getting back to him."  
  
"See."  
  
"It's not that way," she corrected. "Lee, respect is something you have to earn, and you can't do it in a month. I've had two years to get them to trust me. You can't come in here on reputation alone and expect to manage it. And if they think you're already a command spy, you might as well stop using them as an excuse to avoid your dad. This hasn't been easy on him, either."  
  
"I didn't say it had been. It's one reason I don't want to add this problem to the mix."  
  
She lifted herself up onto one elbow so that she could look down on him. "Lee Adama, you cannot have it both ways," she informed him. "And if you don't stop coming up with excuses not to see him, I'm really going to start hounding you. Is that what you want?"  
  
"Lords, no," he admitted, but it was with a small smile. It gave her hope. "He's not a bad guy to talk to," she reminded him. "He's been at this a long time. Even if he doesn't have answers for you, at least it can't hurt to let him know there's a problem. You have to make routine reports anyway, right? May as well be honest when you do it."  
  
"Yes, mother," he grumbled, and then his face fell.  
  
Kara's eyes closed in sympathy. Even their jokes brought pain in the wake of the war. He hadn't thought about his words, but when he'd heard them it had hurt. She put her upper arm around his chest in a warm hug. "You need your father, Lee," she reminded him. "I'd be willing to bet he needs you, too."  
  
Lee finally nodded. "I'll talk to him," he promised.  
  
She left it at that, but didn't take her arm from around him. Grief wasn't only about the lost members of the squadron. It was something they all coped with, and it was easier to manage when you weren't alone.  
  
Lee took a deep breath as he approached his father's office. It was a tiny space - no more than a desk and a bed with room to walk between them - but at least it was someplace they wouldn't be overheard. If he was going to tattle to his father, and that was still what this felt like to him, then he wanted a modicum of privacy to do it in. Two knocks at the door brought a swift, "Come in."  
  
He did so without preamble, and then closed the door behind him. His father was behind the desk, and hadn't looked up, so Lee just stood there. After a few more moments, the Commander removed his glasses, put down the report he had been reading and turned around. Lee was more relieved than he cared to admit at the pleased surprise on his father's face, even as it quickly changed to concern.  
  
"Is there a problem?" he asked quickly.  
  
"No, Sir," he answered. Then, after a moment more, "But I wanted to talk to you about something."  
  
Adama nodded, turning in his chair to face him. It still made him uncomfortable, even after a month of relative peace between them, that so many harsh words had been said in the past. Asking for something now from him seemed almost hypocritical, however right Kara's reasoning had seemed. In addition, he had no clue where to start. His father must have recognized the discomfort. "What is it?" he asked in an almost gentle voice.  
  
It was his dad's voice, not his commander's. "When you took over the Galactica," he began. "How long was it before your orders were no longer questioned?"  
  
Adama leaned back against his desk in the chair, his feet not quite leaving the ground but nearly so. The position was relaxed, and Lee was able to release a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "They're still questioned," he finally told him. "Not as often, of course, but it still happens."  
  
Lee nodded but didn't say more. He didn't know how to take the answer.  
  
"Who's giving you a hard time," he asked after a moment.  
  
Lee had to smile, albeit more sarcastically than he would have liked. "Who isn't," he admitted. At his father's nod, he continued. "There hasn't been any insubordination," he clarified. "Things are getting done. But everything seems so damn forced. I was just wondering if would get easier. And don't tell me that it takes time, because I've heard it from Kara a hundred times."  
  
"She's right," his father agreed. "But it also takes consistency, fairness, and a lot of praise. Let them know when they're doing a good job, and they'll do it more often. Let them know you're human, but that you know what you're doing. You have a disadvantage in being young, but you have the rank and experience behind you to justify yourself. It's no different than teaching a class, really. You managed that well enough."  
  
Lee shook his head. "It's different when they're looking at you for grades," he corrected. "Then there's a kind of fear that backs you. With this, all I have to go on is their actions, and their expressions. Every order is followed grudgingly, and I hear what's said behind my back whether it's intended or not. They really don't like me. My students usually did; and they related to me because I was younger. It was an advantage there."  
  
"You've only been a Captain for six months," Adama reminded him. "If this were outside of wartime, you wouldn't have taken a CAG position for at least another two years. By then you would have had the confidence behind you. As it is, you're going to have to live through the period of building trust with your men. It's not an easy process. Colonel Tigh has been XO for almost four years, and would have taken over when I retired, but he's still not respected by all the crew. They look over him to me. It's what they know."  
  
"I understand that," he said with a sigh. He was doing a lot of that these days, as frustration was foremost in his mind. "But in this case they're looking over me to Kara, and that grates a little, I guess."  
  
"She's been here longer," his father said. "They know her."  
  
"And she's good at what she does," Lee agreed. "They respect that. Frankly, it would have been a lot easier for her to take over as CAG than it has been for me."  
  
"In ways," Adama admitted. "But she doesn't have your rank, or your stability. She's a pilot first. She's not a commander. You are, whether you see it yet or not."  
  
"How do I show them?" he asked in confusion. "Do I start acting like an asshole just to make myself heard? Do I alienate them just to make them fear me? I honestly don't know what it will take to get them listening to me."  
  
"You remain professional," the Commander said. "That's first. They can't respect you if you aren't. You face the very real possibility that you can't lead them and still be a friend. Trust me, it doesn't work. Whether you like it or not, you're on a different level than they are, and you have to accept that. Look to your ranking equals for friendship, and when it comes to your squadrons you command. I don't mean that to sound harsh, but it's reality. You can't have it both ways."  
  
Lee nodded. He had been seeing the same thing. "At first I asked a lot of questions," he admitted. "I guess that was a mistake. I should have acted like I knew what the hell I was doing."  
  
"Probably," his father said with a small smile. "But you would have risked losing their respect that way as well. There isn't a right way to do this. It's as individual as you are, and as they are. You have to take it a day at a time."  
  
"I'm kind of finding that not real reassuring," he said with every effort not to roll his eyes. Everyone was telling him the same thing, but waiting for the interminable future was an abstract thing. He wasn't known for his waiting.  
  
"Sit down, Son," Adama said with a smile.  
  
He followed the instructions, abandoning his place near the door to sit at the foot of his father's neatly made bed. "Thanks," he said. He was really trying to mean it.  
  
His father looked at him for a moment, and then his smile widened. "You know, it's actually very telling that you even care how they're following your orders. Most CAGs would just look to see if the orders were followed at all, and then leave it at that. You care how they take your orders; not just that they do. It's the sign of a good leader."  
  
"Care to pass that along to them," he asked wryly.  
  
"I won't need to," he said softly. "They'll come to it eventually. Just keep doing what you're doing. I've watched you with them. Eventually your confidence will give them the comfort level that they need. Don't start doubting yourself. There's no reason. You can do this job better than anyone else in the fleet. That's why I put you in it."  
  
Lee closed his eyes, finally beginning to feel a measure of relief. "There are times I wonder," he admitted. "Kara says I'm doing fine, but she's really biased."  
  
"She is that," he admitted. "But she has good reason. She's known you long enough to know that you can do what you set out to. You don't let anyone stop you; you never have. It's why you made Captain so quickly. It's why you're one of the best pilots I've ever seen."  
  
"Thanks," Lee said again. His father was not idle with praise. It was something Lee had learned early and always remembered. His father wasn't very quick to judge or condemn, but he was a master of keeping his silence when he was sure someone wasn't acting up to potential. It had been part of what had fueled him through school and the academy, and also what had discouraged Zak so frequently. Adama would say nothing rather than condemn, but it was amazing how little he could sometimes say. Lee and his brother, and Kara for that matter, had learned that silence was more often negative than positive. Perhaps that was why they had always been uncomfortable with it.  
  
"Aside from that, how are you doing?" the Commander asked.  
  
"Fine, Sir."  
  
His father just looked at him, until finally the silence was too much. He was too damn good at this.  
  
"It's getting better," he admitted. "There are good days and bad. In a way it's easier for me, because every empty bed isn't a reminder. Every schedule or assignment isn't a flashback. The Galactica is new to me, so I have a lot fewer bad moments than most of the squad."  
  
"How's Kara?" he asked.  
  
Lee thought about that. "Level," he finally said. "She's quieter than usual, so I know it gets to her, and she spends a lot of time sleeping. She doesn't smile very much, and jokes less. I guess it's pretty normal given what we've been through. There's sadness, but I don't think she's in trouble yet."  
  
"Anyone else?"  
  
"Not that I see," he decided. "But they don't show me much, like I said. Kara hasn't mentioned anything though, so I'm not too worried. I've made a couple of quiet referrals to the psych staff, but mostly it's kids that have stopped eating or aren't sleeping at all. Just little things I pick up. It's so damn hard when they won't come to me."  
  
"Keep close to Kara," he suggested. "She knows most of them. None of us know the newer pilots," he added, referring to the miscellaneous pilots that had been picked up in dead ships during the rescue operations. "They're the ones I'd watch most closely. They have the least connection to those around them, and are the most likely to fall through the cracks."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Are you eating?"  
  
Lee started to grin, and then stopped. His eyes flicked down and he found he couldn't meet his father's gaze.  
  
"What?"  
  
Lee shrugged. "You sounded like mom," he said softly.  
  
"I suppose I did," Adama agreed. "I'm sorry."  
  
Lee shook his head. He couldn't come apart every time something reminded him of his mother. It was counterproductive, and immature.  
  
"It's okay to miss her," his father added. "Lords know I do. We may not have been together, but at least I always knew she was there."  
  
"Yeah," Lee agreed. "I used to call her about once a week or so, just to be sure she was okay. It's weird not to do it."  
  
"I could tell you it takes time," his father told him with a mild grimace. "But you know that. I know you're sick to death of hearing it."  
  
"Yeah, I am. But that doesn't make it any less true."  
  
His father nodded, and for a long while they just sat in silence. Neither had anything pressing to complete, and there was something to be said for the presence of a family member when you were hurting. Just as Kara's hug had soothed him the day before, so his father's silence soothed him now. For a change, the eldest Adama's silence was neither unwelcome nor uncomfortable.  
  
Kara picked at her dinner. It was really lousy. Those around her were doing the same thing. Only so much could be said for synthetic protein, and appetizing or flavorful weren't among the choices. It was just lousy.  
  
The only thing worse than the food however was the conversation.  
  
"Do you believe him?" Hawk was saying as he leaned forward at the table, his arms resting on either side of his plate. "Me, flying with Atkins? Not in this lifetime. I'll be in the Life Station before I go along with that."  
  
"At least he didn't stick you on cleanup," another pilot grumbled. "I spent too many years doing that crap before I joined the service. Let the deck crew handle it. I'm a pilot, not a maintenance worker."  
  
"Don't let him hear that," the first pilot snorted. "He'll go tell his daddy, I'm sure. Then you wouldn't see the outside of the brig for a month."  
  
"Let him try. I'm not afraid of that skinny wimp."  
  
The laughter that followed made Kara's stomach turn. She'd had just about enough of it. The pot-shots they took at Apollo were not only unprofessional, but could be downright dangerous if the newer crew members were to believe it. Yes, Lee was imperfect as a CAG, but Jackson Spencer hadn't been the saint that they all made him out to be. And Lee tried as hard as Ripper ever had, both to see to the crew's needs and to make sure the work got done.  
  
Hell, half the reason he had them cleaning the decks was because the port landing crew was down to nothing. Losing three-quarters of the deck crew had been devastating. So Lee's choices were a combination of keeping them busy when there were too few planes and too many hours on their hands and just plain being practical. Tyrol's crew couldn't rebuild what little they had of Vipers and Raptors if they were tied up with cleaning the bays, and the pilots were more qualified to sweep and mop than to rebuild from spare parts.  
  
But they weren't considering the reasons, because they all thought they were better than he was. She was so sick of listening to it that finishing what was already a disgusting meal became an impossibility. Eyes turned towards her when she stood, and silence reigned at the table.  
  
"I didn't see you there," Hawk mumbled guiltily.  
  
"No shit," she replied, fury clear in her voice.  
  
"We were just letting off steam," Baylor commented. He had been the one whining about mopping decks. "You have to admit things were better with Ripper running things."  
  
Kara took a deep breath. And another. And another. Then still one more. The fury wasn't going anywhere. "We weren't in a war when Ripper was in charge," she ground out. "Do you think he could do any better with what we have left of a fleet? Do you think he could fix all the planes and bring the dead back to life to do the things you're too good for? Hell, I liked Spencer as well as anyone, but even I know he had his faults. He couldn't keep a duty schedule straight, and he had no tolerance at all for screwing up. He wouldn't back you if you were in trouble, and he wouldn't take an extra shift if his life depended on it. Yeah, he was essentially a good guy, but he was human. And now he's dead."  
  
She looked around at the stricken faces and then closed her eyes to them for just a moment. She counted to ten, and then backwards to zero, and finally opened her eyes. "Bailey, you'd be in hack if Apollo reported half of what he knew about you and Dennison's fight last week. You think he wasn't smart enough to figure out that you didn't both trip over your feet on the same day? He kept it to himself because it didn't affect your work and he didn't think it was his business. Would Ripper have done that?"  
  
The blond man stared at the table and swallowed heavily. "Probably not," he admitted reluctantly.  
  
"Hawk, what about last week when you slammed your ankle coming down the stairs. Would Spencer have let you skip the shift and go up to the infirmary so that it didn't swell up to the size of a melon? You know he wouldn't have. You didn't miss a shift unless you were on life support. But Lee took the frakking shift for you!"  
  
She glared around the table for a moment more, seriously contemplating hitting one or more of them, but not doing so because she was sure Lee would kill her. Frankly, he wouldn't appreciate what she was saying now, regardless of whether it was effective, but she was sick of hearing him bashed by everyone who should be supporting him.  
  
"He's not Ripper," she finally said, her voice coming down at least an octave. "But damn-it, why can't you give him a frakking chance? He's a good man, and he's doing the best he can to fill some really big shoes. Why can't you all just give him a break?"  
  
Her temper finally fizzled, leaving her tired and almost aching. She had been trying not to say those things for so long that she hadn't realized what kind of pressure was building. But someone had to say it, and she knew Lee wouldn't. He was a diplomat at heart. As she turned away from the table, leaving her plate there with it's synthetic nutrition still sitting on it, she just hoped that it didn't get back to Lee what she had said. Somehow, she didn't think he'd appreciate it.  
  
Lee took one more look at the roster, double-checked to be sure that everything balanced well, and then set it down on his bunk. It was a pain in the butt trying to get everything equal, but he had managed it. He didn't want anyone saying that he was playing favorites anywhere, but least of all in scheduling his pilots. He had enough to deal with, and he didn't need any more complaints about who was doing what.  
  
His father had made a lot of points, but he still felt that equality was his best bet. He didn't need to make friends with the guys - that wasn't his place, he now realized - but neither did he want to offend anyone outright. He tried to give them what he would want from a CAG - a good one. He'd want fairness and reason, along with a good dose of good sense. He prayed that was what he was giving them.  
  
He had also decided it was time for him to make some decisions of his own. He'd moved his bunk down one, so that he was sleeping directly above Kara. The bunk had been open, and it seemed stupid to stay where he was when his only ally had been two bunks down. No one was going to take a bunk beneath him anyway, so it seemed like a good way to conserve space. Kara hadn't seen yet, but he didn't think she'd mind. Half the time he used her bunk anyway, because the curtains on the one he'd taken had been busted and he'd had no way to cut out the room when necessary. This made sense all around. A lot of things were making sense since he'd spoken with his father, and he made a mental note to thank Kara for the advice when he saw her next.  
  
Still, if he heard another person tell him what a hard act Ripper was to follow, he couldn't promise he'd be responsible for his actions. He had figured that out the day he'd been handed the assignment and he had thought about little else since. He hadn't taken the CAG office for that reason, among others such as space and not wanting to be isolated. He hadn't wanted to follow in Jackson's Spencer's footsteps at all. He hadn't even wanted to be the CAG, instead thinking that Kara would be better at it. But the choice hadn't been his.  
  
And that was the bottom line. The job wasn't his, but neither was the right to turn it down. Each person in the fleet had to manage their own responsibilities, the first of which was following orders. He expected his own to be followed without discussion, and he would begin enforcing that edict immediately. He wasn't going to leave some things to chance. But neither could he question the orders that had placed him in the position in the first place. It would be counterproductive. and stupid. He was neither.  
  
When the hatch swung open, Lee looked up to see who it was. Quarters had been relatively quiet, and that was why he was here to work. He wasn't in the mood for company. The only reason he was taking care of this here rather than in the hanger bay was because he'd wanted the quiet to figure it all out equitably.  
  
When Kara walked in, his first instinct was to speak to her, but the look in her eyes warned even him off. She barely glanced at him as she walked directly to her bunk, slid into the bed below him, and tugged her curtains closed with uncharacteristic quiet. She was absolutely furious about something. He had known her long enough to be able to figure out that it wasn't him - there was no way she would have ignored him if it had been - and that she needed some time to cool down or she would likely take apart whoever tried to step in. He didn't want his head handed to him, and he wanted even less to have to discipline her for it if she did. He left well enough alone.  
  
A moment later, two of his pilots walked in, talking quietly among themselves. The first one was Bailey - his call-sign was Harbinger, and he was a decent pilot - and the second was Hawk. Neither were men he really wanted to deal with, but he wanted Kara to deal with them less. He slid down from the bunk and landed a few feet in front of them, startling them with his presence. That was good. Taking them off guard was a good start.  
  
"Bailey, aren't you due down in the bay in about half an hour?" he asked casually. He was braced for the fight that he knew was coming, but he had promised himself that backing down was no longer an option.  
  
Bailey checked his watch, and then flashed his eyes back up to Apollo. Lee could see the desire to argue there, but it never actually happened. "Yes, Sir," the man said quietly. "I wanted to change into a dirty uniform. It'll just get wasted cleaning the bay, and I don't want to add to the laundry."  
  
Lee couldn't have been more shocked. "Good thinking," he remarked, and went to turn away. Another voice turned him back around.  
  
"Captain Apollo?"  
  
"Yes?" He turned to face Hawk, who was easily one of his least favorite pilots. He was skilled, yes, but not nearly so much as he thought he was. He reminded him of too many pilots that had been lost from no more than a lack of realization that they were human. While he didn't like the man, he didn't necessarily want to see him commit involuntary suicide either.  
  
"I just." Hawk cleared his throat and tried again. "I wanted to thank you," the man said softly. "For taking my shift last week," he clarified. Lee thought he must be looking stupid by now. He was absolutely floored. "The doc said that the only reason it didn't swell up was because we got it cold so fast. If I'd flown the shift, it would still be a mess."  
  
"I wouldn't ask anyone to fly injured," Lee allowed. "We aren't short of pilots."  
  
"Yeah, but. I still appreciate it."  
  
"You're welcome," Lee said simply. "Tell you what. If you want to make it up to me, can you run this roster up to CIC? I have a few other things to get done before I'm on shift."  
  
He watched the battle in Hawk's eyes, then saw him nod. "Not a problem, Captain."  
  
Lee handed him the roster, and watched in a mixture of pleasure and confusion as the man left to deliver it. Behind him, Bailey quickly changed from a relatively clean uniform into one that was pretty filthy, and left through the same hatch. Lee stood there for a moment more, wondering what the hell had just happened, but grateful just the same. It seemed some battles might just be ending after all. A week ago Bailey would have been whining about pilots having to mop floors and Hawk would have told him where he could shove the roster - or at least looked as though he were thinking it. Maybe things were on an upswing after all.  
  
With that battle behind him, he turned to Kara's closed curtains and debated the wisdom of another one following what was evidently success. He decided it might be worth it, and that he was on a roll. He eased her curtain back a bit to see her sitting against the wall at the head of her bed. Without being asked, he slid through the curtain at the foot of her bed and assumed the same position.  
  
"Want to talk about it?" he asked softly.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Anything I can do?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
He turned and looked at her. Indeed, her anger seemed to have faded somewhat. She was looking at him rather than staring past his shoulder, and he knew that to be a good sign. When Kara was truly mad, eye contact wasn't within her capability. "You want dinner?" he asked.  
  
She smiled. "Yeah, I think I could eat."  
  
He nodded, slid out of her bed, and reached a hand back to her. She took it without argument and stood next to him, then looked over his head at where he'd moved things into his new bunk.  
  
"You'd better not snore," she mumbled as she slid her arm through his.  
  
"You either," he replied.  
  
"Come on, Fearless Leader," she told him with a grin. "Let's go get dinner."  
  
He grinned at that, knowing she must have heard the exchange with the pilots and reached over a hand to ruffle her hair. She laughed a bit, and they headed towards the hatch. Some battles were worth fighting, it seemed. He knew this wouldn't be the last one he faced, but he was glad that if not over, it was at least begun. 


End file.
